Just Like You
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: When Victoire visits Charlie at the dragon sanctuary for the weekend, he's thrilled to see that her excitement over dragons matches his own.


_Written for the Marathon Competition (Seventh Mile, 1 of 7 Weasley fics) and the Character Appreciation Challenge (Victoire Weasley)_

* * *

"When do I get to see the dragons?" Victoire asks, bouncing eagerly.

Charlie chuckles, ruffling his niece's hair. With a scowl, she quickly smooths it back into place. "And Mum always said I'd be the only dragon fanatic in the family," he muses.

Victoire rolls her eyes. "I just think they're cool. Besides, how many third years can say they've gotten to see a real dragon?"

Charlie shrugs. He guesses that it would be a pretty interesting talking point, and his eldest niece has always prided herself on being interesting and having exciting stories to tell her peers.

"We'll get you settled in first," he says. "Get your stuff moved into your room, then you can watch me feed Pascal, our baby Horntail."

"Can I feed him?" she asks, her crystal blue eyes wide and swimming with excitement.

Charlie hesitates. "Dragons have volatile moods, Vic. Baby dragon, more so."

"But you'll be there. And you can give me the protective gear I need!" she insists, and she gives him that look.

Charlie groans. Bill has always warned him about that look. He says it's part of her Veela charm coming through. Bill has told him that when Victoire bats her lashes and smiles so sweetly, it's next to impossible to tell her no. And Bill has had enough experience to become immune to it, but Charlie feels himself melting.

He thinks of when he was Victoire's age. He would have gone crazy at the chance to feed an actual dragon, even if it's just a baby. He knows that it's risky, but he can't resist. Why shouldn't she have a little fun during her weekend visit?

"Get your stuff put away, and we'll talk about it," he says.

Victoire beams, throwing her arms around her uncle. "You're the best, Uncle Char," she says sweetly.

…

"Careful," Charlie instructs. "Babies are easy to feed with just one person. The older ones, though, we have to send in teams. The babies are temperamental, and they might be a challenge to the inexperienced."

He guides his niece through the gate, following quickly behind. Victoire looks like she might pass out from the excitement. A grin tugs her lips as she looks around eagerly. "How many baby dragons are there?" she asks.

"Pascal is the only one. The last mating season was pretty grim," Charlie answers. "But with more rescues coming in, we're hopeful that the next one will be more productive. Now, remember. No sudden movements. Even young dragons have a strong survival instinct. If he thinks you're a threat… Well, I don't fancy having to face your mum if I send you home slightly roasted."

Victoire nods, her expression serious, but only for a moment. When she sees Pascal, she grins wildly, and Charlie suspects that it takes every ounce of restraint for her to not rush toward the dragon.

Pascal eyes them warily, clawing at the dirt. He approaches, snorting. After a moment, he settles down, opening his mouth and chirping.

"I thought they roared," Victoire notes.

"When they're older. Now. Slow steps. Follow my lead," he says, removing the liver from the feeding pail.

Victoire wrinkles her nose. "Gross."

"Internal organs are favored for the young. More nutrients than just throwing a steak at them," Charlie explains, tossing the liver.

Pascal snatches it in the air, gulping it down in a few quick bites. Victoire giggles, taking a slow step closer. Pascal regards her, chirping hungrily.

Hands trembling, Victoire reaches into the pail, grabbing another organ. She throws it. Pascal gulps it down just as face. "How much do they eat?" she marvels, throwing a lung for him.

"Pascal is three months old, so his appetite is growing," Charlie answers. "Five feedings a day, which will increase to eight when he reaches six months. By a year, he'll be on a regular three a day schedule."

Victoire throws the last organ for Pascal. He scarfs it down and burps, a small spark flying from his mouth. Satisfied, he claws at the dirt again before stalking off.

…

Charlie sits, sipping his scotch as Bill and Fleur's faces appear in the fireplace.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Fleur asks.

"Loads! Charlie showed me around, and it's so cool!" Victoire says excitedly. "I even got to feed a dragon!"

"You what?"

"Baby dragon," Charlie says quickly.

"Aren't they more temperamental than adults?" Bill asks.

Charlie can imagine that Fleur's face has gone pale. "Bill!"

"To be fair, you should have expected it," Bill sighs. "I told you those two needed supervision."

"Well, excuse me. Zoelie is on maternity leave."

Victoire groans, and Charlie tries not to laugh. His niece has always loved being the center of attention. "Charlie is an adult! He knew what he was doing."

"Charlie is not an adult when dragons are involved, princess," Bill says.

"Oi! I gave her grape juice after instead of the traditional scotch. Does that count?"

Fleur lets out a whine. "Excuse me. I believe that I have gained five grey hairs since this conversation began," she says. "Have fun, Victoire! Bill…"

"On it."

"I want to spend a whole week here next holiday!" Victoire announces. "I could actually learn basic handling!"

Charlie raises his glass in approval.

"We'll, uh, we'll talk about that when you get home," Bill says.

"And when I'm old enough, I can even apprentice under Uncle Char!"

"Uncle Charlie might be retired by then," Bill says, and Charlie tries not to laugh.

"No chance. I'll retire when I'm dead."

"Not helping, Charlie."

"See! I can apprentice under him, and be just like him!" Victoire beams.

"Remember, mate, Mum and Dad tried to convince me to do Quidditch instead," Charlie calls. "Only made me more determined."

"True," Bill sighs. "I guess we'll just have to see."

Victoire sips her juice with a small smile. "You wait. I'm going to be the greatest dragon trainer ever!"

"I bet you will, kid," Charlie says. "I bet you will."


End file.
